


Back from the Dead

by ladyxgreywolf



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate restaurant meeting, Gift Fic, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 15:19:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4105675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyxgreywolf/pseuds/ladyxgreywolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock returns from the dead - or from pretending to be dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back from the Dead

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ciaimpala (YT user)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ciaimpala+%28YT+user%29).



> Written as a gift to YouTube-user ciaimpala back in 2013.

     As he approached the glass-doors, Sherlock Holmes handed his coat to one of the men waiting to take it from him. Once that was done two other men opened the doors for him and he was in. Back from the dead, some might say. Not Mycroft, of course; his brother had always known the truth of his disappearance. Sherlock knew that he had underestimated his relative in this, but at least he had had enough sense not to tell anyone the truth.

     As he stepped into the restaurant he automatically looked around, studying every detail of every single person sitting there. Their manners, their clothes, their overall appearance; it came automatically to him. In no time at all he had deduced that an old man by the left wall was fond of younger women as his eyes constantly wandered to the group of females to his left, despite him being in a conversation with his equally grey-haired wife, and on the other side of the room was a woman subconsciously twirling a straw between her fingers; obviously someone who was trying to quit smoking. He also knew the three men and women that Mycroft had sent there as their eyes briefly flickered in his direction. Mycroft had not told him he would send people, of course. Sherlock believed the reason for it being that his brother was, somehow, worried that he would become mentally instable once more at any moment. Not that he ever had been; he had simply realized that in order to save everyone else he had to die. He had not wanted to die so he had faked it. Everyone safe and he lived. Simple.

     His eyes kept looking at everyone and everything in the restaurant; women on diet, men who were busy talking to some business-partner on the phone... his eyes stopped wandering. By the far wall sat a blond man. He was studying the menu, slightly turned to the right on his chair as if monitoring one of the other doors leading into the restaurant. As Sherlock watched the man put down the menu and reached for a glass of water. Sherlock stared in surprise as he saw that the previously cleanly shaven face now sported a moustache on the man’s upper lip.

     “Sir?”

     Sherlock looked to his right and noticed a waiter smiling at him.

     “Hello, Sir”, he said. “May I escort you to your table?”

     “Thank you, but I can find it on my own”, Sherlock answered. “After all, in my reservation I gave you specific orders on where I should sit during my dinner and there is only one table in this room that matches those criteria.”

     He took a few steps forward and pointed at the first empty table he came across.

     “Laid out for four”, he said, “also with one seat prepared for a child, thus I can easily deduce that this table is not mine.”

     He continued on, pointing first at a table placed close to the bar, which he disliked, and then at one clearly meant for business meetings as, along with the menus, there were also notes with descriptions on how to access the restaurant’s WiFi sticking out behind the black covers.

     “A table with two plates, as I asked, but with roses and candles in the middle”, he now said, pointing at the next empty table. “Indicates something romantic and I would not be surprised if...”

     He lifted one of the menus already placed out on the table, revealing a ring.

     “As I expected”, he said and put the menu back. “Now this...”

     The whole restaurant had fallen silent as he had pointed out the various tables and what was wrong with them, thus everyone was able to hear the loud scraping of a chair against the floor. The blond man with the moustache had risen abruptly and was now staring at Sherlock, his face pale. When Sherlock met his gaze the man stomped away from his table and out through the door he had earlier been monitoring.

     “Give my congratulations to the lucky couple”, Sherlock told the waiter before he followed the man.

     He found him right outside, leaning against the wall while rubbing his face with both hands.

     “You are not real”, he said, sounding like a father ordering his son to go to his room.

     “I am sorry, John”, Sherlock responded. “I truly am.”

     “Fuck you!” John shouted. Sherlock, involuntarily, took a small step back. John did not throw out curses like that for nothing.

     “Fuck you, Sherlock”, John repeated. “You... you bloody, barmy, fucking...”

     John Watson’s face had gone from pale to red in an instant as he struggled to find the right insults to throw in the face of the man in front of him.

     “John, I am truly sorry for not being able to tell you the truth”, Sherlock said. “I had no choice in the matter. It was my death or the death of everyone else.”

     “What the hell are you talking about?” John asked.

     “If I did not die, Moriarty’s men would kill you, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade”, Sherlock answered. “Only Moriarty could tell them not to, and he killed himself to stop that from happening. Unless I committed suicide, I would lose you.”

     John frowned slightly.

     “Lose me?” he said.

     “I once told you, John, that I don’t have friends”, Sherlock said. “I still claim that to be true. But I do have you.”

     With those words, he closed the distance between them and kissed John on the mouth. At first, John was too startled to even move, but as Sherlock started to pull back John grabbed his jacket, forcing them even closer together. John was an expert kisser, Sherlock thought, as he gently nibbled the taller man’s lower lip in order to coax his mouth open. Sherlock allowed it to happen and felt a rush of blood to his head as John’s tongue brushed over his.

     Then, just as sudden as it had started, John pulled back, breathing heavily.

     “I’m engaged”, he said. His hands began to release Sherlock’s jacket, but the man who had just come back from the dead reacted faster, grabbing John’s head and pulling him in for another kiss, this time mimicking the trick that John had used on him earlier.

     “Screw that”, he whispered as he briefly pulled back. He noticed a tear falling from John’s left eye an gently wiped it away. John did not make a move to leave again, which made Sherlock smile for the first time since that day on the roof with Moriarty.

     “I think I love you, John.”

     “I’m still mad at you”, John responded, before he pulled him in for another kiss.


End file.
